Turn not from him who asks of thee

A portion of thy store;

Thou poor in worldly goods may’st be,

Yet canst give what is more.

The balm of comfort thou canst pour

Into his grieving mind,

Who oft is turned from wealth’s proud door,

With many a word unkind.

Does any from the false world find

Naught but reproach and scorn?

Does any, stung by words unkind,

Wish that he ne’er was born?

Do thou raise up his drooping heart,

Restore his wounded mind;

Though naught of wealth thou canst impart

Yet still thou may’st be kind.

And oft again thy words shall wing

Backward their course to thee,

And in thy breast will prove a spring

Of pure felicity.